


Normality

by imperial_queen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon typical abuse and neglect, Fair treatment of the Dursleys, Gen, The Dursleys are not nice to Harry, The Entire Harry Potter Series From the Dursleys Point of View
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperial_queen/pseuds/imperial_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus Dumbledore left a baby on a doorstep in the middle of the night, and a perfectly normal family lost the thing they valued most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> This is a copy of the story from fanfiction.net.

Chapter One: Surprises

DING-DONG!

Vernon Dursley was woken from a restless and uneasy sleep. He looked at the clock…it was half-past six in the morning. He sighed, too tired to get up and hoped that the doorbell was a figment of his almost non-existent imagination. He would have had trouble imagining the bombshell that had been dropped on him and his family the previous night as they all slept, but as the epitome of normality; none of the Dursleys would have imagined the abnormality they were about to experience.

DING-DONG!

Vernon sat up and grimaced. Who would ring the doorbell at this time of day? Only the milkman…oh…there must be a problem with the milk. Why couldn’t he post a note through the letterbox, like a normal person?

DING-DONG!

“Alright, I’m coming!” Vernon called. He climbed out of bed, disturbing his wife, Petunia.  
“What is it?” she asked sleepily.  
“Some fool ringing the doorbell. Go back to sleep, it’s still early,” Vernon replied. He heard the mumbled reply as he left the room. He shut the door quietly and clambered down the stairs and fumbled with unlocking the door.

He opened the door just as the milkman rang the doorbell again. “What the bloody hell do you want?” he snapped, tired and fed up with the noise of the doorbell. The milkman looked at the corpulent man in front of him. The man blinked and stared at his client. He was comparable to an elephant seal in size and had a walrus moustache that seemed almost alive. It quivered as Vernon tried to curb his temper. “Well? What do you want?” he asked the unfortunate milkman, “Is there an issue with the milk?”  
“No…I was just dropping off the milk, like usual, sir, and well…I found…well…umm…” the man trailed off, too terrified to speak and just gestured to the ground. Vernon raised an eyebrow in scepticism. The milkman looked at him, eyes wide. “It’s not a joke, honest, sir…it’s just…well…” the young milkman tried again; again he trailed off, at a loss for words.  
“If this is a joke or a bet, I’m calling the police!” Vernon hissed, spittle spraying onto the poor milkman. The man began to look terrified, shoved the milk bottles he was holding at the larger man and said “There’sababyonyourdoorstep!” in a rush before rushing off to his milk float. He drove off as fast as he could; leaving behind the angry walrus that lived at number four Privet Drive.

Vernon stared after the milkman. He thought about what the man had said and then about the gesture. He looked down. Looked up. Looked down again. There was a baby on his doorstep. He did the only thing a person can do in a situation like that could do. He swore. He dropped the milk bottles he was holding…and swore again, this time for a different reason.

The baby woke up and looked at him. It started to cry. His day was just getting better and better. He gathered the crying infant up in his arms and headed inside, grumbling loudly. He made a mental note to deal with the smashed bottles later. There were more pressing matters at that moment in time.

As he entered the house and left the crying child in the living room, he noticed a letter clutched in its small hands and a lightning shaped scar on his forehead. He prised the letter from the infant’s clutched fist and looked at the address.

Mr and Mrs V Dursley  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey  
England

Whoever it was knew where they lived. That was not good. He didn’t know of anyone who would…then he remembered the events of the previous day; the people in strange clothes, the mutters, and he began to suspect something…something he prayed and hoped that he was wrong about. He knew in his heart that his suspicion was right though.

He opened the letter, scanned the contents and then started to read it properly.  
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, the letter began. The cursive, narrow script reminded him far too much of the hand that had written a letter from a certain person that his wife had shown him to prove that her sister was…different. He read further. Stopped. Read it again. He sat down next to the baby…that had fallen silent. How ominous. He finished reading the letter. He left the room and went into the kitchen. No child, however abnormal, needed to hear what he was thinking. What he needed to say. Then he began the longest string of curses that had left his mouth in a long time; after all it isn’t every day that an infant is dropped onto your doorstep. When he’d recovered enough, he left to wake his wife up.  
“Petunia,” he whispered, shaking her gently. She stirred and looked at him.  
“Vernon? What time is it?” she asked, still drowsy.  
“It’s not seven yet. However, we have a problem,” he whispered. She looked at him. “It’s your sister,” he added. She sat up, got out of bed and left the room. He followed her to the living room. That was the end of normality for the Dursley family.


	2. Decisions

Normality was an important concept for Petunia Dursley. After her life had been rocked to its very foundations on a morning that she would consider anything but normal, Petunia found herself in the kitchen, cooking bacon and eggs for breakfast. Living her life as she had, with a sister like Lily, Petunia had come to treasure the normality she could find, and she had found a perfectly normal man and had a perfectly normal son. Now her normal life, the life she had built after an abnormal childhood, had been shattered by the actions of a lunatic and an old man.

Placing the food on the table, she put some cereal in front of Dudley and hoped he wouldn't be too difficult this morning. She was stressed enough already. Her nephew had been left on her doorstep last night and she hadn't been able to stop Dumbledore from doing that. He was a fool…he thought a letter could make her accept the child? He must have been delusional! But, how could she turn away her own family, the only link she had to Lily? Petunia didn't know what to do, the choice just wasn't a normal choice.

Vernon sat at the table with a thud and looked at Petunia. “Do you have any ideas about what to do with the brat?” he asked through a mouthful of bacon. She shook her head.“The letter says that he's only safe if he's here. Some nonsense about my sister and what happened, apparently,” she said quietly.“If he's as special as the letter claims, then why is he here? Why isn't he with the rest of his kind?” Vernon spat, “I won't have one of them in this house, Petunia! I don't want to know anything about the abnormality that they have,”  
“What if he's not one of them? My sister told me once about children from that world who don't have magic. The boy could be like them. He could be normal,” Petunia said quietly, hoping her words to be true, but believing them not to be.  
“I don't want to take the chance. It might hurt Dudley. It might hurt you. Can't we contact this Dumbledore fellow and get him to take the boy back?” Petunia though before she answered. A long time ago she'd been able to contact Dumbledore, and he'd replied...but this time there might not be a reply...although if they asked for a meeting...Petunia dismissed the idea almost as soon as she thought of it...Vernon would never let one of them in the house and she didn't want to meet Dumbledore herself. “No. Contacting them is impossible unless you know how and my sister never told me how she stayed in contact with them. I was never worthy of the information,” Petunia said. Vernon nodded and went back to his breakfast.

Later Petunia was left with Dudley and her nephew while Vernon was at work. The boy was quiet, taking in his surroundings and the new people. Dudley was poking and prodding the smaller boy, eager to find out more about the intruder. Petunia hadn't the heart to stop Dudley, he was obviously just curious about her nephew. Who wouldn't be? None of them had ever met the boy before, so it was only natural for them to be curious. However, when Petunia left the two toddlers alone to get a cup of tea, a loud bang echoed from the living room.

Petunia panicked and rushed into the room with the two toddlers to find Dudley crying on the floor while her nephew sat there quietly, while all of the furniture was tipped over... Petunia picked Dudley up and took him out of the room before returning and staring at her nephew...oh, how she wished Lily hadn't died, how she wished that her brother-in-law had relatives...she shook her head, and moved her nephew, putting him in a different room to Dudley. Then she attempted to right the furniture, managing the smaller pieces and failing at the larger ones. She sighed, knowing that she'd have to wait for Vernon to return so that they could restore normality and work out what to do with the boy...Vernon would not be happy. He wasn't a fan of exertion at the best of times, but exertion that was the result of...that would make him even angrier.

She looked at the clock and counted the hours until Vernon got home...only another four hours...she could cope...she hoped.


	3. Snow

Six weeks later saw Number Four, Privet Drive returned to a sort of normality. Everything had changed including the definition of normal within the Dursley household . They had adapted to the new addition to their household, if not with ease or grace then with acceptance of the situation.  
Mr and Mrs Dursley still coddled Dudley, thinking him a faultless little boy approaching his second birthday. Of Harry Potter, their thoughts are more confusing, with fear and hope in equal amounts along with resentment and pity. Harry Potter had been settled into the smallest bedroom, at Mr Dursley's insistence for fear of his 'little tyke' becoming 'abnormal'. Mrs Dursley had had no choice but to agree and go along with it as she wanted a happy, completely normal family. The first seemed to her to be attainable, but the second? At first, she didn't know if they could achieve a façade of normality for the neighbours, let alone a completely normal lifestyle. She suspected that it would be impossible.

Dudley Dursley was a perfectly content almost-two-year-old (he was proud that he knew that his birthday was less than six months away). He had everything he could want, parents who adored him and showed him how much more important than his cousin he was. If he ever claimed to want something, it would be procured in a relatively short amount of time in pristine condition that would never last. Dudley Dursley was a child in want of nothing unless he realised that it would make Harry Potter jealous.

Harry Potter was a content toddler, even though he was aware of the favouritism his aunt and uncle showed towards Dudley. Harry Potter had toys to play with, even if they were a bit battered, and a lively imagination. He understood that even if he coveted what Dudley had, it wouldn't be his. He understood that his aunt and uncle were looking for something about him, something that scared them. He wondered if that meant that it should scare him as well?

The other inhabitants of Privet Drive were intrigued when Mr and Mrs Dursley suddenly started looking nervous and jumpy after Halloween. They looked for a change, a cause but that change wasn't discovered until the Christmas period when it snowed enough for snowball fights and snowmen and the Dudley Dursley and his father ventured outside, bundled up in layers and layers of jumpers, shirts and coats, something completely normal, other families were following that trend. They started building a snowman when they were joined by a little boy with messy black hair. Privet Drive's inhabitants looked out of the corners of their eyes quietly as the little boy sat apart from Mr Dursley and his nephew, building a small something-or-other in the snow that nobody could quite identify. Everybody's curiosity was piqued and some were even venturing to ask Mr Dursley who the little boy was when all three of them stood up, the black haired boy slightly after the others, and headed inside. The snowman was finished, the something-or-other was not.

Questions were being asked in hushed tones. Who was he? Why haven't we seen him before? What's his relation to Mr Dursley? How long has he been living there? Why is he there? And the most important question of all Why have they kept him a secret?

While the inhabitants of Privet Drive were wondering about the little boy with black hair, he was sitting in the kitchen with his relatives. They looked worried. Why? Was it his fault? He only wanted to play in the snow, like Dudley and Uncle Vernon...he didn't know what to say even though Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were staring at him, as if they expected an explanation.

He was about to speak when he remembered Aunt Petunia telling him that he 'should only speak when spoken to' so he waited to be asked for an explanation, he waited for something. Finally, after what seemed to be an age of silence, meaningful looks and feeling small, Aunt Petunia sent Dudley and Harry away. They went and sat in the living room, looking out to the snow and children playing in it, having snowball fights, building snowmen and being normal with longing and a silent agreement that one day they would have a snowball fight together with no one watching to find out who was better. No words were spoken, but in that one day, one time, one room, Dudley Dursley and Harry Potter felt that they had one thing in common, one thing that the other could relate to, one thing that could have grown into friendship had the circumstances been different.

While the toddlers wished they could see the snow, play in it and be like other children, Mr and Mrs Dursley were discussing the situation. It was a quiet and intense discussion. Mr Dursley was adamant that they not let the boy out of the house, while Mrs Dursley was certain that that would bring more trouble. What was the solution? After an hour debating the topic, an agreement was reached. Harry Potter would become a part of their everyday lives and if anyone was curious, they would tell the truth. He was to be the son of Petunia's dead sister in a tragic accident that nobody should hear the details of; they were too horrific. Mr Dursley wasn't happy, but short of moving away, and they had already considered that, what could they do? Harry Potter had been revealed to the neighbours at a most inconvenient time and a solution had to be found, even if it wasn't the one Mr Dursley favoured.  
Harry Potter remained blissfully innocent of the plot and he looked out of the window of his bedroom as the snow fell in pretty patterns, swirling onto the ground. He stared and wished, hoping that one day he could play in the snow like the other children, like Dudley had. He wanted more than anything, at that moment, to be accepted, to be normal.


	4. Visits

The next change in the uneasy arrangements in the Dursley household came with a visit from Marge. She had agreed to postpone her usual Christmas visit upon the news that her brother and sister-in-law needed to deal with a...problem that had occurred. However, Marge insisted that she visited the Dursleys for Vernon's birthday in March, and there was no way that Vernon could arrange to meet her outside the house, because, as Marge put it during a telephone conversation, “I haven't seen my Dudders in months!” She was also rather eager to introduce Vernon to one of her new dogs, an encounter that Vernon was not looking forward to...he wasn't that fond of dogs anyway.

Marge's arrival brought a flurry of activity to the Dursley house. Petunia refused to let Marge know that anything was out of place, that there was somebody abnormal in the house. Her nephew's unusualness would not be revealed to anyone, Petunia hoped, ever. The freakishness that had killed Lily, Petunia decided, would not destroy her perfect family, her normal family.

By the time Marge arrived, the house looked as if it were brand new, and Petunia had an excellent meal planned for lunch. At a quarter to ten in the morning, Vernon left the house to collect Marge from the station, and returned, with Marge and her dog, at seventeen minutes past ten. The weather was dismal and the roads chock-a-block with traffic. Petunia was nervous, Vernon returned grumpier than when he left and Marge was thrilled to see Dudley. Then she saw the little boy sat as far away from Dudley as the Dursley's living room allowed. She stopped. She stared. “Vernon, who's the runt? I hadn't thought that you'd give in to...charity cases.”

“Marge, this Petunia's nephew, Harry. His parents died in an unfortunate accident. We're his only relatives and we've had no one to contact to get rid of him.”  
“What do you mean 'no one to contact'? It sounds like he landed on the doorstep in the middle of the night.”  
Vernon laughed nervously, “Funny you should say that, Marge, because a few weeks before Christmas, he just appeared...we had no idea what to do.”  
“You should have sent him to the orphanage! You should have called the police! What kind of weirdo leaves a baby on a doorstep in the middle of the night with no warning for the poor souls inside? You should have taken him to the orphanage as soon as you realised! Honestly, Vernon, what were you thinking? I thought you had more sense!” Marge was outraged that her brother would take in a baby left on his doorstep. It was outrageous.  
Petunia heard all of this and said nothing. She had never agreed with taking the boy to an orphanage and normal families didn't call the police because of a baby. The boy was her nephew and she owed it to Lily to look after him, but Marge hadn't seemed to register that it wasn't Vernon's decision, because the boy wasn't related to Vernon, but to Petunia. Yes, Dumbledore's letter had been to both of them, but the way he'd written had meaning to Petunia. It made her think of the letters she had written to him all those years ago because she'd wanted to go to that school, to be like Lily, to be admired by her parents. It had taken her a long time to realise that Lily had been a freak, that Lily, her sister could never be a part of her life as Marge was a part of Vernon's life. They'd just drifted apart and now Lily was dead. All that was left was her nephew. Marge had no right to say that he should have gone to an orphanage.

“Marge, would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” Petunia asked the traditional, polite questions that were required of a hostess. “Tea, please, Petunia. Do you have any of the fruitcake that you had for my visit the other Christmas?” At Petunia's nod that yes, there was fruit cake, Marge requested a large slice and took a seat by the window. Vernon followed suit after asking for coffee and a slice of cake. Petunia went through to make the tea and coffee, and get the fruit cake.

When she returned, Marge was commending Dudley, “He'll grow up into a fine man, Vernon. Just make sure you raise him right.” Vernon agreed, and commented on Dudley's powerful lungs and his knowledge of language. “He knows the right words that he'll need for the next few years.”  
“WANT!” Dudley yelled, seeing the boy playing with some toys. After a brief tussle, Dudley emerged triumphant with the toy, threw it aside and returned to the toy he'd been playing with before. The other boy moved further away from his companion and bobbed his head in time to music that wasn't there. Marge laughed at the commotion, “Runt knows his place, doesn't he?” There were nods of agreement as the refreshments were handed round, with a grunt of thanks from Vernon and Marge saying that Petunia really spoiled them.  
“So, Marge, how have the dogs been?” Petunia asked, making conversation.  
“They're doing fine. I suspect there'll be some good dogs in the next few years. Colonel Fubster's looking after them at the moment, but I really must leave this afternoon. I can't bear to leave them, you know that Vernon.” Vernon mumbled his comprehension, annoyed at being nothing more than a chauffeur on his birthday.  
“That's good, then. What's the dog you brought with you called?” Petunia asked, looking at the pitbull that seemed to be eyeing the cake up as if it were something it wanted. “Ripper. He's still young, but I do rather like him. Reminds me of someone I met once. Can't remember who, so don't ask. Ripper's a good dog, aren't you boy?” Marge then poured some of her tea into the saucer and gave it to Ripper. Petunia began to despair at the state her carpet would be in tomorrow.

The rest of the morning passed in a similar fashion, with small talk making up most of the conversation. At various points, Marge pointed out the impropriety of taking in the boy, “What if he's not your nephew?” was asked about five times before lunch.  
Lunch passed in a blur for Petunia, who had fed Dudley and her nephew before the adults ate their lunch, but the toddlers remained, so that there were no...accidents. Marge talked loudly throughout the meal and complimented the “wonderful nosh” a number of times. She ate a great deal, almost as much as Vernon, while Petunia found that she was lacking an appetite, possibly because Marge asked for a second plate and gave Ripper some of what she was eating. Petunia found it quite off-putting.

After lunch, Marge seemed to have decided to ignore the dark haired boy and pressed a present into Vernon's hands with the words “No time like the present. I want to see you open it Vernon.” The present turned out to be a vase, much like one that Petunia herself had given to Lily the Christmas before she died, which she had promised to put flowers in at the earliest opportunity. While Marge was at the toilet, Vernon wondered why he had been given a vase because “I don't even like flowers. Stupid things, they need changing and I have better things to do with my time.” Petunia had her own suspicions about the origins of the vase.

There was more talk, what school they were thinking about for Dudley, when he would start, how Petunia thought he would do, and other boring questions. More tea, coffee and cake was served, more tea was given to Ripper and more was spilt on the carpet. At a five o'clock, Dudley switched the television on, resulting in a round of applause from everyone. The TV programme was some cartoon, which played quietly in the background until Marge realised the time. She needed to go to the station to get back to her dogs. Vernon suggested that she stay the night, but she insisted that she needed to leave. “Fubster's waiting for me to get back and I can't leave the dogs for long, Vernon, you know that.” Vernon and Marge piled into the car, with Ripper in the back seat, and left for the station.

When Vernon returned, both he and Petunia sat in front of the television, watching the news, hoping that there was nothing stressful happening that would affect them. After an hour, and after Dudley and the boy were in bed, Vernon turned to Petunia and said, “Marge was right. We could have left the boy in an orphanage or called the police. Claimed there was a mistake. It could still be some prank.”  
“Vernon, was the state of the living room not enough for you? I told you about my sister. It's not my fault she died and left us with her son. And I know he's hers because of the eyes. You met Lily twice. She was my sister. I think I know what she looked like.” Petunia was sharp, annoyed that Vernon was having second thoughts. “And, Vernon, we can't change our minds. He'll know if the boy leaves, I promise you. And then he'll turn up on the doorstep in daylight and the neighbours will never stop talking. We're the boys guardians now, we can't change that.”


	5. The NHS

Chapter Five: The NHS  
Harry Potter first visited the optician when he was five and a half years old. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had made him an appointment when they’d made Dudley one, just in case he needed glasses. “His father had them. It might run in the family, Vernon, and we don’t want to be seen as not looking after the boy,” Aunt Petunia had reasoned, shooting a look at Harry that he couldn’t possibly understand. “Fine, dear, book his appointment when you have to make Dudley’s next one. If he needs glasses, make sure he chooses a pair we get with the NHS voucher.” Petunia nodded.  
At the optician Harry sat in a big chair, the biggest he’d ever been in, while Aunt Petunia tried to keep Dudley quiet in the chair by the door. The optician, a nice man, went through a series of tests with Harry, as he had with Dudley before him, asking him what he could and couldn’t see from a variety of letters he’d learned in school. Harry did as he was asked, but he knew he hadn’t got all the letters right…they were difficult to see, especially the smallest of the lines he was asked to read.   
After the optician had finished examining Harry’s eyes, and looked over his notes for a few minutes, he turned to Aunt Petunia, “Mrs Dursley, your son has no problems with his vision at the moment. His difficulties today lay more in his lack of knowledge of the letters than poor eyesight. Bring him back to see us in a year, as well as your,” looking over his notes again, “nephew, was it?” At a nod, the optician continued, “Your nephew is short-sighted, and although it isn’t too severe at this moment in time, I feel that it would be in his best interests to wear glasses when reading the board at school and watching television, anything that involves distance so that he avoids straining his eyes and making his eyesight worse.” Then he handed Aunt Petunia a piece of paper, “This is his prescription, along with the statement that lets him get a free pair of glasses on the NHS, so show these to one of the assistants in the shop, and they’ll show you to the children’s section, before ensuring that the glasses fit properly and telling you when they’ll be available to pick up.”  
“Thank you very much,” Aunt Petunia said, taking the piece of paper, and then ushering the boys out of the office. Turning the corner and entering the shop, Aunt Petunia spoke to the first shop assistant she saw, handing her the piece of paper (Harry couldn’t remember the word the optician had used) and then he was pushed forward. The assistant said “Please follow me,” and led the way over to a case filled with lots of different types of glasses frames. She was explaining the pricing system to Aunt Petunia while Harry just stared at all the choice he had available to him. He tuned out the adults talking and started moving his head to find the glasses he wanted most.   
He found them, simple, plain, black, but also round and different from any other pair available. He liked them because they reminded him of the high society figures he’d seen in the TV shows, the ones who wore the funny eye thing that would fall out, but they also didn’t look too expensive so he didn’t think Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon would say no.   
“Aunt Petunia?” Harry asked timidly, worried that he’d be scolded for speaking out of turn.  
“Yes?” Her reply was short, sharp and scared Harry, as he feared she was angry.  
“Can I have this pair?”  
“Let me look at them,” was the response, and Harry handed the glasses over. Watching his aunt scrutinise the glasses, looking for a fault or a reason to say no was one of the scariest things he’d ever done. Finally she turned to the assistant, “I’m happy with this pair, he seems to want them, and according to the system which you have just explained to me, they come under the NHS voucher. If you’d let us know when they’ll be ready to collect, that would be wonderful.”  
“Certainly. If you’d just follow me, I need to make a few measurements, just to make sure we can adjust them a bit to save time for when you pick them up. Would a week today be suitable?”  
Petunia looked at the boy, her nephew, as he returned from the opticians with Vernon, having collected his glasses. They suited him, she decided, but he lacked the confidence, the arrogance, that had shone through his father’s eyes, the quiet knowledge that Lily’s husband had been extraordinary, and that he was proud of it. The boy was trying to be normal, ordinary, and even though there were incidents, his hair, for example, never seemed to change, regardless of whether it had been cut the day before or hadn’t been cut in months. These kind of incidents didn’t cause any harm, but they still scared Petunia, and Vernon.   
Dudley, Petunia saw, either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. His treatment of his cousin was understandable given that he had only ever seen the boy treated as something different, something other, and something that he should be wary of. He never acted violently against the boy in front of her or Vernon, but Petunia suspected that the sense of otherness around Harry could cause some problems. If he never told Petunia or Vernon, though, they couldn’t help him. Dudley was, to Petunia, perfect, even if he was a little loud sometimes, and didn’t spend as much time outside as Petunia had when she was his age, there had been developments in the last few years, and it seemed that watching the television was the new norm.   
“You said he didn’t need any prompting to choose the cheapest of the glasses?” Vernon asked, and Petunia looked up, startled. “He picked those with no prompting at all, while the pricing system was being explained to me. I don’t believe he was actually listening to the explanation, but it’s worked out well, I think,” she replied, “He’s not asking too many questions about his parents, and so far there have been no incidents aside from those few when he first arrived. He may well be normal, Vernon,” she added, thinking that that would be a way to spite Lily, for her child to be completely normal, for precious Lily’s son to be as normal as Petunia herself. “You think so, Petunia? I suppose it could be true…If he’s normal, we’ll see about Smeltings for him. But only if he doesn’t get accepted into that freak school. I can’t have someone signed up for Smeltings who’s associated with me and doesn’t go. That would ruin us.”  
“Smeltings is definitely where Dudley will go then, Vernon?”  
“It did me good, and it’ll do Dudley good too. Best school around.” Vernon was quite certain that no other school would be good enough for Dudley, and Petunia was perfectly happy to follow his lead. Smeltings was certainly an excellent school for a boy to go to, and it could mean that Dudley would be able to advance further in life. Perhaps her nephew as well, if he proved to be normal. If Lily’s school didn’t accept him regardless of whether he had magic or not.   
That was Petunia’s biggest fear, one she didn’t dare confide in anyone: that her nephew would have to go to Hogwarts even if he were as normal as herself or Dudley or Vernon. That they’d be forced to watch as her nephew was isolated from the world he should be part of and the world that would hail him as a saviour. He was a child! No child should be a saviour of anything! Particularly not a normal one, as she hoped her nephew would be. But there were more trials to overcome first. Like the dentist.   
The dentist had seen Mrs Dursley bring in the boys before, but never together. They had always been apart for their appointments. Now, he saw them side by side, and noticed that the older boy, Mrs Dursley’s son, was in fact much larger than his cousin. “Which of you would like to go first, then?” the dentist asked, guessing that the larger boy would go first, to get it over with, to show he was more important than the other boy. His guess was right, but for the wrong reason, as Mrs Dursley herself nudged her son forward, and the boy settled in the chair as the dentist adjusted its position so he could better look in the boy’s mouth. He was not impressed by what he found there, and after giving Dudley several fillings, and a great deal of biting, he informed Mrs Dursley that her son should have far less sugary foods, and that he should take much better care of his teeth, “Bad habits gained in childhood cause far more problems in adulthood, and possibly the removal of adult teeth.”  
Dudley was shooed off the chair, looking ashamed, and Mrs Dursley herself seemed slightly mortified. Her nephew climbed slowly onto the chair, waiting quietly while it was adjusted. The dentist found that he was far better behaved than his cousin, and after a quiet word about making sure that he spent the full two minutes brushing his teeth twice a day, he left the chair quietly, with no fuss.   
It was on the way out that there was a problem, the dentist saw from the doorway. In the traditional manner, the boys were given stickers for their ‘bravery’ when facing the dentist, but Dudley snatched his cousin’s sticker away from him, before marching on behind his mother. His cousin, obviously hurt, angry, and perhaps resigned, followed after staring briefly at the stolen sticker.   
There was a wail from Dudley a moment later, and his mother rushed to him, the dentist watching curiously. “IT’S GONE, MUMMY! IT WAS THERE AND NOW IT’S GONE!” Mrs Dursley turned to glance at her nephew, saw the scene her son was making and then grabbed them both by the wrists and stalked out, fury etched onto her face.   
The dentist shook his head, and assumed the children were like so many others, confused and wanting attention. At least his niece wasn’t anything like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you and enjoyed it, and please leave a comment!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

Chapter 6 - Solutions

Being the guardian of a child like her nephew wasn’t easy, Petunia had decided after the incident at the dentist. Particularly as the child didn’t understand that his...abilities were just not normal. Although there hadn’t been any major incidents since the day he’d arrived, and Dudder’s had been calmed and the boy punished after the incident at the dentist, Petunia took that as hope that if he grew up in a normal environment, he would be normal. She hoped that with her entire being, even knowing that Lily had grown up and lived in a normal family until she had just stopped being normal. Everything about had been different from when they had discovered her abilities, from how she acted to who she spent time with. Nobody in their right mind would have spent time with the Spinner’s End boy unless there was something wrong with them; there were rules about who you could spend time with. But then, Lily hadn’t really cared about social etiquette and appearances. At all. Petunia wanted her life to be normal, to be perfect, but the appearance of normality, of perfection was all she had left after Lily’s death. After the letter. After that Halloween when her life had changed forever, unknowing to her, until the next morning.

Stopping in her cooking, Petunia noticed her nephew and Dudley staring at each other. That was…not normal. Her nephew usually avoided Dudders like the plague. She began to panic, mind whirring through the possibilities of what could have happened…why couldn’t her family, her sister have been normal? After checking her cooking to make sure nothing was likely to get burnt or ruined while she dealt with the children, Petunia walked towards them. Dudley saw her first and began smiling triumphantly. Her nephew, on the other hand, didn’t see her until she spoke, her voice sharp, “Harry Potter, what did you do to your cousin?” He froze and began shaking his head, while Dudley looked at her, making his eyes big and hurt, “Hurt me,” Dudley said. Petunia looked at her nephew, as he tried to make himself as small as possible, which she took, as always, as an admission of guilt. “Fine, if you won’t admit to hurting Dudders, I shall have to put you in your room until you have learnt that you need to admit you did something wrong,” and she picked him up, placed him on the floor, and walked him to the smallest bedroom in Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging. She placed him in his cot, making sure he couldn’t get out, explained why he was there, and left the room.

* * *

 

After Vernon had eaten his tea, complained about his co-workers and cooed over Dudley, Petunia told him that the brat had hurt his son today. “I assume you dealt with it, dear” he replied, confident that his wife would have disciplined the boy. She nodded, saying he apologised to Dudley for hurting him, and to herself for refusing to confess at the beginning. “Good. Brat needs to know he’s not in the right when he hurts the little tyke. There’ve been no more freakish things, have there, Petunia?”

“No, there haven’t. I can only hope that a normal family will, in turn, make him more normal, and less…different,” Petunia said quietly.

“Petunia, you don’t have to be kind, his kind aren’t just different, they’re _freaks_ ,” Vernon spat, unimpressed with anything that he didn’t understand and didn’t care to understand. If people weren’t like him, it seemed, they weren’t really people at all. Honestly, what self-respecting bloke would wear what was basically a dress anyway? Vernon had no respect for people who didn’t fit in, and this other lot so very obviously did not fit in with modern society that Vernon’s respect would just be wasted on them. He would have put good money on them not being able to use a telephone, as ridiculous as that sounded. Petunia nodded, and instead began discussing the final of the Snooker World Championships. Vernon began to loudly comment on the success of Steve Davis, but as he didn’t know much about snooker, his comments were pretentious and it was obvious he knew nothing about snooker; he much preferred golf as a sport. It was more suited to men of his social standing, in his opinion.

* * *

 

The next day, Vernon knew something was different, was wrong, as soon as he got back. Petunia wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room, and Dudley wasn’t sat in front of the television. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Not that the boy was rarely around, he spent most of his time alone in his room, and usually retreated to his room after homework had been done after school. It was the one good thing about the brat, he understood that children should be seen and not heard, and even then it was better if some children weren’t seen at all.

Vernon searched the whole house for any of his family, and the brat, and none of them were there. It was very odd. And worrying Vernon didn’t worry often, but there was plenty of food and Petunia never took the boy shopping with her, not since some very odd incidents with people dressed like _them_ who had treated the boy like some kind of hero! Not that that was any different from what Dumble-whatsit’s letter had said he’d be treated as, and that was one of the reasons why he needed to live with them. Honestly. That lot were all crazy. As if a baby could do anything to stop a maniac who blew people up.

Vernon was sat watching the television, not relaxed, but unable to do anything when the door opened and an angry Petunia rushed the boy and Dudley through the door. “This _child_ ,” she hissed, voice filled with venom and anger and fear, “turned a substitute teacher’s hair _blue_. _BLUE_ , Vernon! And he doesn’t even know _how_ he did it. He claims that it was _magic_.” Vernon had never seen his wife this angry before. He’d never seen her at this point of tranquil fury, and it was terrifying. The fact that the boy, the brat, could change someone’s hair colour and claim that as the cause, and this boy had upset his wife more than anything he had ever seen. “We’ll punish him, don’t worry. We can always try and get rid of him, and even if that won’t work, we’ll stamp it out of him. It’ll all be fine. Put him in the cupboard under the stairs for now, as a punishment, lock the door, and we’ll leave Dudders here watching the telly and we can go to the kitchen and talk.”

* * *

 

Petunia was furious. It had been going so well, and her nephew, the boy, Lily’s child, had to be different. Had to be a freak. And he’d had to be freakish where every child could see, where all the teachers would know, and all the parents. They’d be the talk of the town because of that freak and it was the destruction of her reputation as the ideal family, normal, with no problems that she hated, that hurt the most. And it had taken him no time at all. If she’d been able to persuade Dumbledore, he’d have been gone the day he arrived, but the letter had pulled at her heartstrings, the part of her that _wanted_ to know Lily’s world, even a little, even if she couldn’t be a part of it. Vernon didn’t understand. He hadn’t grown up watching his sister have everything he wanted, Marge was as normal as Vernon, but Petunia had watched as Lily had been special, and different and unique in a way that she could never be, and it had hurt, not being able to be a big sister like she should have been. And now her nephew was ruining the life she’d built with Vernon, in Little Whingeing.

“I don’t see why the cupboard under the stairs can’t be his room permanently, Vernon, it’s not like he takes up that much space, and it would show him that being different, being a freak, isn’t to be tolerated. Dudley could probably use the space in the smallest bedroom for his toys anyway,” Petunia suggested, perfectly reasonable, and Vernon brightened at the idea, “Why, that’s a marvellous idea, Pet! We can get the folding bed from the attic and put that in there, some pillows, blankets, and he’ll be fine.”

Petunia could cry about the past, and the disaster that had occurred today later, but other concerns took priority.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you for reading this and please leave a comment if you want, just to let me know what you think

Chapter 7 – Impressions  
As Harry Potter seemed to be in good health and was a perfectly polite child, those few times the neighbours saw him, nobody had any concerns. He seemed normal, and if not perfectly happy, no more troubled than any other child. It seemed perfectly normal, if not entirely acceptable, to the other residents of Privet Drive that the Durselys would favour their own child over the nephew who had appeared so suddenly one night, the one who they had taken in with an understandable reluctance because they hadn’t even know they were to be the boy’s guardians if something happened to his parents.  
However, it appeared the Dursleys had a wonderful nephew, for not only was he unfailingly polite when he was spoken to, he seemed to know that when adults were talking about important things, it was best not to interrupt, which contrasted with so many children’s behaviour, wanting their problems solved immediately, without having tried to solve whatever it was that had upset them themselves. Harry Potter also diligently did his chores and never once complained, not in any of the hearing of any of the neighbours, and from what they could tell, he did them well. The garden had never looked so nice, they all agreed quietly, talking to each other over the fences, or when they saw each other as they walked up and down the street.   
Of course, some things did seem…odd…about the Dursleys, aside from the nephew. Not that the other residents of Privet Drive would be so rude as to mention it, but the shared glances and soft sighs that went unnoticed by the Dursleys were their own language to the group of middle class aspirants. Not that the oddness had been noticeable right away, when Vernon and Petunia had first moved to Privet Drive, but after a few months something about the way they behaved, trying to be the most normal people on the street had, in a way, made them the most abnormal ones. The attempts to make polite conversation when a nod and brief ‘Good day’ would have done highlighted how they had secrets, something that scared them and that they were running from. They had settled down after a year or so, and their son was born, the perfect neighbours, so at the time most had put the oddness down to not knowing the area or their neighbours.   
Then Harry Potter had arrived, and the Dursleys had become very nervous for a few months, as if whatever it was that had scared them had made its return. They didn’t linger to talk outside, particularly if their nephew was with them, and treated him as if there were something wrong with him, as a few of the sharper-eyed neighbours noticed the looks he was given, wary, as if waiting for something to happen. And the way they spoke to him, very rarely using his name, and hiding him away as much as they could.   
Slowly, the family had come to a new kind of normality, and even if it wasn’t the same as it had been before, it was enough for the neighbours, who found no reason to poke their noses into the Dursleys’ lives with no abnormalities in their behaviour. There were mutterings about the Dursley boy, Dudley, and how the favouritism was doing him no good, for he was slowly becoming overweight, even with a very different build to his cousin’s, and the amount of attention and gifts they lavished on him were considered to be far too much for his own good, and he was known to be selfish and to throw a tantrum whenever he didn’t get his own way. Many of the other children of Privet Drive and its surrounding areas were afraid of him, but only went to their parents when Dudley turned his aggression onto someone other than his cousin. Everyone knew, of course, that Dudley regularly used Harry as a way of…relieving stress, but as they were both in the care of Mr and Mrs Dursley, none of the neighbours felt that they had the right to interfere. How the Dursleys raised those children was their own business and nobody else’s.   
And then a rumour flew around the street that Harry Potter had turned his teacher’s hair blue. Of course, most people dismissed it as silly nonsense, that was impossible, but a few of the residents of Privet Drive, most notable those of numbers 3 and 5 had raised an eyebrow each and then exchanged a glance while listening to the outrageous story being told by an excitable child on the corner of the street.   
As they walked towards their homes, they talked quietly to each other, “Well, do you believe it? It seems like utter nonsense, but given the way they treat the child, it seems likely there’s something…unusual about him,” whispered the owner of number five, while the owner of number 3 shook his head, “I don’t know. I do believe there is something unusual about the boy, but it’s probably just delinquency and a clever hair dye that has a delayed reaction rather than the magic that the children were going on about. You know how their imaginations run away with them when they’re young,” and when the owner of number 5 gave a small smile, remembering that his own imagination had been quite impressive when he was a small child, the matter was at end.   
Later, both the owners of number 3 and number 5 heard a commotion in the Dursleys’ house, when the family was reunited and Mr Dursley was informed of his nephew’s actions at school. Neither neighbour had expected the anger to originate from Mrs Dursley, from the way she stalked into the house from the car, both children held by the wrist, sending angry, scared glances at her nephew. Both men came to the conclusion that Petunia was angry at her nephew’s mischief-making, although normally an adult wouldn’t exude the seething anger that Petunia displayed to those watching curiously from the safety of their own homes. They both thought she was overreacting a little, it had been a harmless prank, and it seemed to them that he had been scolded enough by the headmaster of his school; it didn’t seem like he needed a severe punishment from his guardians as well, although the way Petunia had moved had implied that the boy wasn’t getting a normal punishment. That seething anger, which seemed to be tinged with hatred, and maybe fear, had shocked both neighbours. Who could hate a child? Who could fear a child? Why would anyone hate or fear a child as polite, as conscientious, as quiet as Harry Potter?


	8. Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for this being late, life has been fairly stressful recently and I haven't been in the right state of mind to write anything. 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter, and please review!

**Chapter Eight – Holiday**

There were no more incidents for several years at Privet Drive, so when the next one happened, Petunia and Vernon blamed themselves for their complacency. The letter from the school informed them that Harry had been climbing on school property and that he was not to do it again. When asked about the letter, the boy claimed that Dudley has been chasing him, Dudley and his gang, the boy claimed, and that he had wanted to hide behind the bins, but the wind must have caught him, and that he had no idea how else he could have ended up on the roof. Dudley said that he’d been climbing on the school buildings because he’d been dared to by another boy. Vernon decided that the boy wouldn’t eat dinner with the rest of them, and would go to bed early.

After Dudley had gone to bed, Petunia looked at Vernon, took his hand and sighed. “He’s one of them,” she was resigned and tired, “I don’t know that there’s any way to make him normal now.”

“Of course there is, Pet, we just haven’t found it yet,” Vernon said quietly, squeezing her hand, “And if you don’t want him to go to that school, he won’t go. His lot have put so much extra stress on us that we shouldn’t have to do anything for them.”

They were both more worried than they were willing to admit, both more afraid than ever, they’d both heard the stories Lily had told them once when explaining why she probably wouldn’t be in contact with Petunia for a long time, saying it was for their own safety. That conversation had ended badly, and Petunia could never apologise to her sister, but nor could she get over decades of fear and bitterness easily.

* * *

 

Vernon and Petunia felt helpless whenever the boy was unhappy, whenever he was overly emotional, and the fear of another incident, of one they couldn’t contain or that wouldn’t be forgotten easily remained strong for the next few months. They were both looking forward to the holiday, to some time without the stress, without their nephew. They wanted to spend time with Dudley and be the family that they’d wanted to be when they got married, to be normal. Mrs Figg’s offers to look after the boy had been welcome, and Vernon’s way of saying thank you was to do a little bit of DIY for Mrs Figg whenever she needed it, to save her the money of paying for it. And if the repairs had been caused by an incident, well it was only fair for Vernon to repair the damage. Particularly because Mrs Figg never said that anything had happened, never seemed to think them different because of the boy.

The packing for the holiday began in earnest, and while the boy didn’t seem to expect to go, the hopeful look he gave Petunia the day she took Dudley shopping for more suitable clothing didn’t go unnoticed. Late that night, with only a few days to go before they were due to leave, Petunia admitted that she felt a little guilty, leaving him with a near stranger for a week, that she perhaps owed it to Lily to look after him better, that Lily was angry at her for how she’d treated him, but there was something there that she couldn’t get over, whether it was the fear, or the reminder of a sister she’d been jealous of, of a world she’d been unable to live in or access. Even if she did feel guilty, the anger over having a child she didn’t want thrust into her life had turned to bitterness and she was too old, too set in her ways to change, to ask Vernon to change, just for that boy.

The day before they left, with a feeling of unease that was easily brushed aside, Petunia sat next to the boy in the kitchen, and explained that she, Vernon and Dudley were going on holiday, but they didn’t think Harry would like the aeroplane or the beach, that they thought he’d have a better time with Mrs Figg, that spending time with her cats would be good for him, that he’d always like animals. His face fell, and there were tears in his eyes that were quickly rubbed away, before he nodded, said, “Yes, Aunt Petunia,” and went outside to finish some weeding before dinner.

* * *

 

Airport security with Dudley was always a nightmare, and he talked non-stop about what he could see through the window for most of the flight, but it was just them, and Vernon was relieved to not have the boy there. Two weeks with no stress, the sun and the beach sounded perfect to Vernon. He was planning on having the best holiday of his life. Starting with a lie-in, followed by going to the beach with Dudley and making sandcastles with him. First, though, he thought it more important to sleep, he felt fairly tired after all the travelling and the chattering and trying to communicate with the hotel staff.

Although he tried to sleep, he kept imagining things going wrong in Britain, that there’d be an incident while they were away, and Mrs Figg would die, and then the authorities would become involved and that they’d investigate the Dursleys, or that some of that lot would try and steal his nephew and he’d be obliged to start a manhunt he didn’t care about because of a child he’d been lumbered with by a crackpot fool. A mixture of the heat and worrying over the consequences of leaving the boy with Mrs Figg for so long, so soon after an incident, meant that Vernon slept badly. The holiday was not relaxing him as well as it should have been, and he woke earlier than he planned, feeling neither relaxed nor well-rested.

After breakfast, and Dudley’s attempts to start a food fight with another boy his age proved to be unsuccessful, Vernon took him to the beach, with a bag holding the bucket and spade, beach ball and towels. Once they were sat down, the bucket and spade made their appearance and Vernon and Dudley began the task of making the best sandcastle ever, Dudley’s concentration evident with the way he stuck his tongue out when turning the bucket over, hoping the castle wouldn’t collapse this time. After he’d exhausted the need to make sandcastles that morning at least, Vernon was dragged to the sea, to paddle in the water and watch as Dudley splashed about, attempting to jump over the waves.

Petunia had joined them by the time they retreated from the waves, and was sat on the towels reading a book when Vernon plonked himself next to her and Dudley set about destroying the sandcastles, as was his tradition. “Why doesn’t Harry get to come on holiday?” Dudley asked, shocking his parents into silence from their quiet conversation. Petunia seemed unable to form a thought, a sentence, so Vernon’s response, “He’s been a bad boy, Dudders, and we don’t want our holiday ruined by bad children,” was said carefully, quietly, and with some worry. Petunia nodded once she’d absorbed what Vernon had said, and then added, “Now don’t ask questions,” before going back to her book.

* * *

 

The next evening, when Dudley was taking part in the children’s activities and Petunia and Vernon had some time to themselves, the two of them decided to take a walk along the beach, looking at the waves as the sun set. After walking in silence for some time, Petunia was surprised when Vernon stopped, pulling her to a stop as he did so when she continued walking, and looked at her. “Vernon, dear, is something the matter?”

“Pet, do you think we did the right thing?”

“The right thing?”

“With the boy.”

“Of course, we wouldn’t have been able to relax if he’d come with us, and he always causes problems with Dudders, it was easier to leave him behind,” she reasoned, words spilling out to try and avoid expressing the guilt she felt. “I don’t mean that, I mean in general, do you think we’ve done our best by him?”

She stopped, opened and closed her mouth and thought. “I don’t know; Lily would say no and I wish I could love him the way he deserves. But he scares me, Vernon, they all scare me. I can’t handle that kind of person. I wish he’d never been given to us, but we’ve tried, and…and…and maybe we’ve not done what we should have, and I feel guilty…but we can’t change now, people will talk.”

“Pet, I agree, I just wonder if we should have protested more, back then, when they just left him.”

“I don’t think it would have made a difference, and we did the best we could have given the situation. And Vernon, I honestly can’t thank you enough for staying, for being here, for helping me. I love you.”

* * *

 

The day they were to fly back to Britain, Petunia, Vernon and Dudley took a walk along the beach, Dudley holding both his parents’ hands, swinging between them, happy, excited to be going home and ready to show off the toys and souvenirs to his friends.

After the flight, as stressful as the previous one, Vernon got his family back to Little Whinging as soon as possible, Dudley looked ready to go to bed and getting him out of the car if he was asleep was always difficult. As soon as Petunia was in and shuffling Dudders off to bed, Vernon deposited the suitcases in the hallway, ready to be unpacked and then went to fetch the boy.

After a short walk in the rain, muttering quietly about typical British weather, he knocked on the door of Mrs Figg’s house. The boy opened the door, and grabbed his rucksack, filled with his things, and thanked Mrs Figg for letting him stay with her. Vernon offered his own thanks and promised to come round whenever she needed to do some DIY.

Once back at his own home, Vernon sent the boy to his cupboard, and went to sit with Petunia in the living room, ready to drink a glass of whiskey and watch some telly.  


	9. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now that I have a plan, chapters should be turning up at a much quicker rate than before. It's also been entirely planned up to the end of Harry's 7th year, and an epilogue following that. 
> 
> I also don't own Harry Potter.

**Chapter Nine: Contact**

It was his birthday! He was finally turning 11 and he was getting lots and lots of presents from his parents. And Harry wouldn’t be able to ruin it by being freakish so Dudley would get to spend lots and lots of time with Piers at the zoo and they’d see all the cool animals like the lions and the bears and the sharks and the snakes!

“Mrs Figg’s broken her leg, she can’t take the boy,” Dudley heard his dad say to his mum. But that would mean that Harry would have to come with them. Dudley felt his good mood begin to evaporate and the usual anger he felt whenever his cousin did _anything_ that caused Dudley problems, that meant he didn’t have his parents undivided attention. They were his parents, today was his birthday and how dare that freak ruin it! Especially because he had less presents than last year and now his time with his parents and Piers was going to be ruined because Mrs Figg couldn’t look after Harry. Why should a broken leg stop her from making him do chores or whatever it is she made him do when he was at her house? Mum and Dad always said that Harry was a bad boy who didn’t deserve to go out with them, or any special treatment, so that shouldn’t change how Mrs Figg treated him, broken leg or not.

When Piers arrived a few minutes later, Dudley knew that he’d have to act as if his cousin didn’t exist. It was the only way to stop him from ruining the day. He grabbed Piers’ wrist, dragging him outside towards the car, eager to leave. “What’s the rush Dudley? You know my mum’ll have to catch up with yours and we’ll be here forever before we can even leave!”

“He’s got to come with us. My cousin. It’s not fair. It’s my birthday and he’s going to ruin it, like he ruins everything!”

“Dud, we can beat him up if he starts acting all weird, especially if your parents aren’t watching. We can tell him what’ll happen to him if something weird does happen. That’ll teach him not to ruin your birthday,” Piers said, putting his hand on Dudley’s arm to calm him, “Now let’s go back inside so I can say hello to your cousin.”

Harry was hovering near the door when Dudley and Piers opened the door. “I’ll go tell Mum and Dad to hurry up. We don’t want to be late, you wait here Piers,” Dudley said quietly, giving Piers a nod as Harry flinched when Piers moved to stand opposite him. Dudley didn’t know what Piers would say, and he didn’t care either. He just wanted a perfect birthday.

“Muuuuuum, when are we going to go? I want to see all the animals!” he whined, getting the tone of voice just right to make his mum realise that Dudley was more important than Mrs Polkiss. She was only supposed to drop Piers off, not stay for a cup of tea. What was wrong with adults? “Oh, of course, you should be leaving soon if you want to get a parking space. Have a good day Dudley, and I’ve given your present to your parents for you to open later,” Mrs Polkiss said, standing up and heading towards the door, followed by Dudley’s Mum and Dad, who made noises of agreement. Dudley followed, and then stood next to Piers while his mum gave him a hug, telling him to be good.

As soon as she’d gone, his Dad was making sure that everyone had everything before shooing them all out to the car while he locked up. There was a great deal of tussling as Dudley and Piers made sure that Harry had as little room as possible in the backseats of the car, and then Dad was there, checking everyone’s seatbelts before setting off.

* * *

 

The zoo was awesome and apart from some strange comments in the car, his cousin hadn’t done anything weird yet so maybe he knew to behave properly on Dudley’s birthday. The lions and tigers had been fierce and scary and just as amazing as he’d expected. Neither Dudley nor Piers had been too bothered by the penguins with their silly walk and cuteness. They weren’t at the zoo for the cute and fuzzy animals. They were here for the scary ones, like the snakes.

The reptile house had as many dull and boring animals (who cares about grass snakes and tree frogs anyway?) as scary ones, and Dudley and Piers were flitting from case to case, finding the biggest animals, or the ones with the best attack, or the ones that looked like they could kill you in a second. They stayed longer at the cases where the animals were moving around, eating or staring at the glass.

The boa constrictor was asleep and just wasn’t moving, which disappointed both Piers and Dudley, who quite liked the idea of being able to crush their enemies like the constrictor did, the sheer power of the snake making it one of their favourites. Instead, they decided to come back later, to see it when it was awake, when it was moving around. Instead they both went to look at the King Cobra, which was swaying menacingly, watching them stare at it through the glass. “It’s so cool! It says here that this is the world’s longest venomous snake! Imagine how quickly it could kill you!” Piers was saying, reading the sign before going back to staring at the glass. Dudley moved around a little, watching as the snake followed the movement.

“Dudley! Mr Dursley! Look at that!” Piers suddenly shouted, seemingly frozen in place for a moment before he grabbed Dudley and span him around. Dudley stared. The boa constrictor was moving. It was almost as if it was talking or communicating or something. And stood in front of its case was his cousin. Who was stealing the attention again. He ran towards Harry, pushing him out of the way, letting him sprawl on the floor, as Dudley pressed his hands and face on the glass, staring at the boa constrictor in shock, in amazement. His Dad hadn’t been able to get it to move, but it had woken up for Harry? And now Dudley seemed to be locked in a staring contest with the snake, as close to the snake as the glass would let him.

And then, all of a sudden, the glass was gone. Dudley was falling into the enclosure and for the briefest second he thought he might die. He thought the snake might eat him as he fell into the water he knew, instinctively that Harry Potter had done this.

But all thoughts of Harry vanished from his head the second he began floundering in the cold water, trying to get his hands and feet underneath him and then get out. But there was stuff in the water, plants that were long and stringy and got tangled around his arms and legs. By the time he’d got himself out of the water, the snake was long gone and everyone in the reptile house was panicking, the zookeepers running around trying to both find the snake and calm the visitors down.

Dudley put his hand out, leaning down to try and use it to balance as he got out of the enclosure but he couldn’t. The glass was back. And his cousin was still sprawled on the floor, but this time he had a grin on his face. It _was_ his fault. Everything Dudley’s parents had said about him being a freak, being wrong, was true. And now Dudley knew why. And he’d never let the freak do anything like this again.

* * *

 

A few weeks after the disaster of the zoo trip Petunia had finally managed to calm Vernon down enough that he didn’t stare murderously at the boy whenever they were in the same room, and Dudley had been given new presents at the zoo, as well as free entry for the family for their next visit. Which would be without her nephew, Petunia vowed. He just caused too much trouble.

He darted past her, heading towards the front door as she brought Vernon his coffee and sat down on the sofa next to him, noting that Dudley was proudly wearing his Smetlings uniform, and despite the rather garish colours (not that she’d tell Vernon that), he looked like a fine young gentleman. “Fits well, doesn’t it, Petunia?” Vernon said, and Petunia nodded, hoping Dudley wouldn’t grow out of it too soon.

“Thank you,” Vernon was curt when the boy handed him the post, looking over the envelopes, and Petunia could tell that a few of them were bills, and the rest the usual rubbish, leaflets they’d never use. “Harry’s got a letter! Harry’s got a letter!” Dudley suddenly shouted, and Petunia looked up to see a small tussle, ending in Dudley snatching the letter out of his cousin’s hands and handing it over to her. “Who’d be writing to you?” Vernon bit out, venom and anger in his voice, but also a bit of fear. Petunia could feel his eyes on the letter she held as she looked at it. The seal looked familiar, and although she couldn’t quite place it, she was suddenly very scared.

She turned the letter over slowly, hoping for it to be something different. But no. It was as she had feared. The writing identical to the letter Lily had received all those years ago, the envelope felt the same. A small part of Petunia was expecting the doorbell to ring, to see that teacher from the school there, ready to explain everything, to help the family adjust to the situation. “Out, both of you,” Vernon snapped, bringing Petunia back to the present, away from the memories, “Clearly this letter was meant for someone else, so we need to work out how to deal with it away from your noise. Go play outside or something.” Vernon was insistent, and despite the boys’ protests, shooed them away so that they could talk.

“It has his cupboard on it, Vernon! If any of them saw this, they’ll be over here to ask about it! We need to do something.”

“I know, I know. I suppose this means he’s a freak after all then?” At Petunia’s nod, Vernon’s face fell, “Well, he still won’t be going. I won’t have the freakishness be increased.”

“Of course not. They may not like that though. And if he sees the letter then he’ll want to go. He’ll find a way to send a reply, Vernon, you must see that.”

“What should we do then? You know these people better than me.”

“We should start by moving him out of the cupboard. That way if they investigate, we can say that their letter is wrong. Then we must make sure that he doesn’t receive any of the letters. They’ll send more. These people are persistent.”

“Will they continue to use the post? Or will they resort to abnormal methods?”

“Lily always used to talk about ‘owl post’. I dread to think what the neighbours would say if a flock of owls showed up here. We’d lose all credibility. We wouldn’t be able to hide that there’s something odd about him anymore.”

“Then we’ll move if that happens. If it becomes a problem, we’ll move. They won’t be able to find us if we move away.” Petunia nodded, hoping that what Vernon said was true, hoping that they wouldn’t have to explain anything to the neighbours. She briefly thought that maybe letting the boy go to that school would be the best option, but he’d only get more freakish, it would only get harder to hide what he was, to explain why he went to a boarding school but not Dudley. It would be better if he went to Stonewall, living a normal life.

* * *

 

That was it. They were moving. Vernon was fed up of owls, of exploding letterboxes, of the stares and the muttering. They would leave all of this behind them until those freaks got the message that the boy would not be attending that school.

He’d made reservations at a hotel far away for the night, and they’d be staying in an extremely isolated location until Vernon was certain that the freaks had given up. They certainly wouldn’t be able to find them if they were in the middle of the ocean, at a place that didn’t even have an address, let alone a letterbox. And he definitely owed Jim from HR a favour once they could return to Little Whinging safely, Vernon knew, but it was worth it to keep those freaks as far away from his family as possible.

“Petunia, pack up some of everyone’s things. We’re leaving. I won’t have these blasted owls turning up any more.”

“But Vernon, what about the boys, they won’t understand what’s happening. This will surely draw more attention to the…problems we’re having.” Vernon froze, considering the implications of leaving as soon as possible, “Pack quietly, don’t tell anyone, and at the end of the week we’ll leave, we’ll tell everyone we’re going on holiday and that we’ve called professionals to deal with the damned birds while we’re gone. But only if they ask,” he said with a finality and a certainty that he didn’t feel, hoping that leaving would be the solution, that they’d return to as normal a life as possible, a life without this madness.

Vernon never wanted any of this, but he loved Petunia too much to abandon her, he loved Dudley too much to leave him with his freak of a cousin and the boy couldn’t be kicked out. Petunia and he didn’t see eye to eye on everything, mostly her sister and the boy, but he wouldn’t leave her. He’d protect her and take her to the end of the earth to keep her safe if he had to. Especially from these freaks.

* * *

 

It had been a long journey. There had been…complications, but they’d arrived at Jim’s Hut on the Rock. Nobody would find them here. But with only one bedroom, the boys would have to share the living room downstairs until they knew they were safe from the freaks. That shouldn’t take long, of course.

“Dudley gets the sofa tonight, if Harry behaves, he might be able to have it tomorrow,” Petunia was saying, trying to get the boys to settle down so that they could sleep, so that they could start to leave this madness behind. And the boys _were_ settling down, trying to get as comfortable as possible in their sleeping bags, on the sofa or on the floor, and Vernon dared to hope that everything would go to plan, that the freaks would leave them alone.

Petunia nodded towards the stairs, then proceeded to go up them as quickly and quietly as she could, trying to avoid disturbing the boys. Vernon watched as she paused about halfway up, to give both of the boys a glance, to look at them with emotions Vernon didn’t fully understand, didn’t care to understand, he tried not to be a complicated man. He followed, keeping his eyes off the boys, hoping that they could leave soon and Dudley wouldn’t have to share with his cousin for that long. That they could go back home soon, that the freaks would leave them alone, and Dudley wouldn’t have to live in fear.

Petunia had put the telly on, some background noise to keep them both grounded and to try and stop them from flinching at every sound. It didn’t work, and the constant pattering of the rain on the roof only increased Vernon’s uneasiness. Petunia’s movements were jerky, short and showed her own unease and discomfort as she switched the television off, and Vernon reached for her, trying to bring her some comfort as they tried to get some sleep.

Sleep was slow to come, and brief in their acquaintance that night, as Vernon and Petunia both woke from nightmares several times. The last of these turned out to be no nightmare at all, and instead the banging they could both hear, and that had woken both of them up was still there, still going on. They didn’t say a word to each other as they slowly, carefully climbed out of bed, crossed the room as quietly as they could and put on their dressing gowns.

There was an almighty CRASH from downstairs and Vernon just knew he would have a very hard time explaining this to Jim. He might even have to pay him for any damage caused by these freaks. That was the only explanation, that the freaks had followed them all the way out here, unable to get a simple message. He could hear the indistinct sound of conversation happening downstairs. This would stop. Now.

“I demand that you leave at once, Sir!” He snapped as soon as he could see the freak who’d invaded his temporary home, who’d ruined his life. And Vernon tried not to be intimidated, he wasn’t the tallest of men so he was used to being shorter than people he confronted. This freak was in a league of his own though.

The man gave Vernon a glance, and then just continued talking to the boy as if nothing had happened, as if Vernon Dursley hadn’t just asked him to leave, as if Vernon weren’t the breadwinner, weren’t the one who was clearly in charge. He had control over the boy’s future and “I won’t have a crackpot old fool teach him magic tricks!” Vernon finally managed to get a word into the conversation. He almost immediately regretted this outburst, however. The freak was angry. Vernon was very aware that having a person that tall, who would clearly know how to use those freakish abilities, angry was bad. But he wasn’t even being consulted. And he was the boy’s guardian.

The man raised his umbrella and Vernon watched as everything slowed down, as the man said a spell and didn’t aim it at Vernon, or Petunia, but at Dudley. His son. The freak had tried to change his son. Because of something Vernon said. Because Vernon made him angry.

He rushed over to Dudley, as fast as he could, Petunia a step ahead of him, and they made sure their son was okay, was as whole as he could be after that experience. Dudley clutched at Petunia, unable even to form words as he tried not to cry, to show how strong he was. Vernon looked to where the boy and the freak had been, but they’d just vanished. Vernon muttered under his breath about “no-good freaks, ruining the lives of perfectly normal people” as he settled Dudley on the sofa again, and told Petunia that they’d head home tomorrow.

* * *

 

Dudley was lonely. He’d never been lonely before, there’d always been Harry around. Not that Harry was good company, especially given that he was a freak, like the man who’d given Dudley that pig tail. He’d been too embarrassed to leave the house all summer. And then there’d been school, but none of his friends had wanted to meet up over Christmas, and Piers had gone skiing with his family in the Alps. So, Dudley was sneaking around the house alone, trying to find out what his presents were.

“We can’t give him anything, Petunia! We haven’t got anything to give him,” Dudley froze as he walked past the kitchen, and then stepped back as slowly and quietly as possible. Surely his parents weren’t talking about him? He’d been promised more presents than he’d got for his birthday, given what he’d suffered that day. “Well the bird’s here, Vernon, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to leave until we give it _something_ ,” his mother retorted, and it was a retort, short and full of that quiet anger that terrified Dudley. _Bird? What bird?_ Dudley thought, trying to understand what they were talking about, “Vernon, no, we have to do something, or people will notice – “

“Notice? They’re far more likely to notice if that bloody bird leaves with a parcel! How would we explain that? ‘Yes, our nephew’s insane, and he uses an owl to receive letters at his school for freaks’ is just perfect for this area!” Harry? There was a bird, no, an owl, here? That wanted a present for Harry? And his parents were actually arguing over this? Dudley knew his parents didn’t like Harry, didn’t like that he was a freak, but to actually go so far as to not give him anything for Christmas, anything at all, was just incomprehensible to the eleven-year-old.

“Honestly, you say that like the boy sent the owl here himself. He didn’t do that. He’d have sent a letter begging for gifts if he had. Use one of the old Christmas cards, tape some money in it and then give it to the bird. Once it gets dark. Nobody’ll notice an owl at night,” Dudley froze at the hardness, the coldness in his mother’s voice as she talked about the boy he’d grown up with, the one he’d played with first.

He backed away from the kitchen door quietly, deciding that eavesdropping was best left to another day, and snuck upstairs, hoping his parents didn’t ask what he’d been doing. As he sat down, surrounded by toys, he contemplated what he’d heard. He knew nobody liked Harry, that’s just how it was, but that didn’t mean his parents shouldn’t have got him a Christmas present. Aunt Marge had got Dudley a Christmas present every year, and he’d contributed to the card for Aunt Marge even though he thought she was scary. People got presents for people they didn’t like, that was just how the world worked, as far as Dudley knew, and that his parents had only sent Harry a present because of the owl shocked him. Was it okay to not send him a present because he was at the freak school? Because he was a freak? Dudley shrugged to himself and turned to play with his Power Rangers toys.


	10. Chapter 10: Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter for you all. And not a horrendously long wait either. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, if you have any questions please leave a comment

Chapter 10: Family

Dinner was going well, the Masons seemed to like Petunia’s cooking, Dudley has behaved perfectly, and there hadn’t been any mention of the boy. Everything was as it should be. He’d secure this deal for Grunnings, get his biggest bonus in years, and they could celebrate with a longer holiday this year, with whatever was left from the bonus going towards Dudley’s university funds.

“And of course, Mr Mason, business is the traditional path for our family. After he’s been to university, Dudley plans on joining Grunnings, don’t you, son?” Vernon said smoothly, a smile on his lips as he enjoyed the company and the dinner.

Dudley was just explaining that he’d always wanted to be as successful as his father and people like Mr Mason when the comfortable atmosphere and flowing small talk were interrupted by a noise from upstairs. Vernon could feel his smile becoming fixed to his face, becoming more pained by the minute. What was that boy thinking? He knew the cost of making noise tonight! “Excuse me, I’ll go and find out what that is, probably just something falling over upstairs,” Vernon said, hoping the weak excuse would be dismissed with little scrutiny as he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up.

He thudded up the stairs, stalked to the boy’s room (as much as a man his size could stalk anyway), and opened the door to the boy’s room. “What’s going on here? We’re at a delicate stage and your making noise could have ruined it! Not one sound, not one sound, remember that, boy,” Vernon snapped as quietly as he could, voice just above a whisper. He didn’t even listen to the brat’s excuses, eager to get back to pleasant company and away from whatever it was that was affecting the boy.  

Apologies were made to Mr Mason, “sometimes the house makes strange noises, that’s just how it is, but it gives the place character,” and the evening continued in the same vein, with Vernon and his family doing their best to appear as normal as they truly were. And things were going as well as before, the small talk was going well, Vernon’s jokes were going down a storm, if he did think so himself, but, as he was telling the punchline of his Japanese golfer joke, one that was a success every single time he told it without fail, the noise from upstairs started again. Vernon trailed off, and exchanged a look with Petunia. She gave him a very sharp nod, and he stood up, apologising yet again, making weaker excuses than he had before for the cause of the noise. Mrs Mason looked particularly suspicious.

“What are you doing, boy? You just ruined the punchline of my Japanese golfer joke,” Vernon paused menacingly, “One more sound, one more mistake and you’ll be sorry.” He turned and left, closing the door as much as he could, as quietly as he could before going back downstairs. Petunia locked eyes with him and he tried to convey his own frustration while explaining that there was a window open, and it had been blowing the door of one of the bedrooms into the doorframe. “The window’s shut now, of course, but Petunia does like to air the house, don’t you, Pet?” he added, and Petunia nodded, before explaining that sometimes she left the windows open a little longer than she meant to.

The Masons were hesitating more now, sending glances towards the ceiling, even as they settled into the conversation and moved from the table to the living room, to wait for pudding. Dudley was clearly doing his best to bring the conversation back to the present, and Vernon was immensely proud of him. The Masons were clearly impressed as well, if the approving looks Mr Mason was sending Dudley were anything to go by. And that was where it all went wrong.

Vernon froze, rage taking control very briefly when he heard the boy running down the stairs, but he didn’t draw attention to the sound, he didn’t dare, not when Mr Mason was talking about the deal and things were finally going right, and continued talking, trying to ignore everything except Mr Mason. So he didn’t feel Petunia’s eyes on him, or hear Dudley’s very quiet “Dad,” until the moment the trifle dropped on Mrs Mason’s head. Then he stared in horror at what had happened, and at the boy, clearly guilty, stood in the doorway.

“Well I never, nothing like this has ever happened before. If this is how you treat esteemed business partners, Dursley, then I will never deal with you again.” Mr Mason gathered his wife, who was squawking indignantly, and stormed out of the house, barely remembering to grab their coats on his way out. The front door slammed with a finality and Vernon’s dreams of securing his family’s future went down the drain.

He turned to the boy. “How dare you, you ungrateful brat. You have not only ruined this evening, but the future and security of this family. All because you’re a freak!” his voice was low, was quiet, was full of anger. He was no longer angry, he was furious, and he intended to make the boy pay. Then an owl was flapping in his face, in all their faces, before dropping a letter in the boy’s hands and leaving.

The letter spoke. What kind of freakishness meant that a letter spoke the words written on it? Vernon listened, angered by the owl, by the freakishness, but calmed by what he was hearing. The boy wasn’t allowed to perform magic out of school, he was on a warning for having performed magic this evening, and this meant Vernon could punish him.

“I know exactly what to do to you, boy.” He took great pleasure in saying the words.

* * *

 

Petunia woke. She listened. Vernon was yelling. She sat up. “PETUNIA! HE’S GETTING AWAY! STOP HIM!” and she leaped out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown and pulling it on while moving to the door, opening it and running to the boy’s room, Dudley hot on her heels.

And Vernon was trying to stop her nephew and a pair of ginger twins put his stuff in the boot of a flying car. A flying car! Of all the things the neighbours would notice! Putting aside the old resentment towards Lily, that Lily hadn’t shared these things with her, that Lily had told her they could make cars fly, she ran to help Vernon, grabbing hold of the boy’s arm, her grip as vicelike as possible.

It wasn’t enough, it was never enough. He went, stolen away in the night by freaks in a flying car, and Vernon was left almost falling out of the window because he tried to stop them, he tried to take on people he had no hope of winning against for the boy, to keep the boy here.

“Dudley, go back to bed. I’ll make sure your father’s alright,” she said quietly, and pushed Dudley towards the door before he could protest. “Vernon?”

“What?”

“Let’s go down to the kitchen, make a cup of tea and talk,” she said, moving towards the window, and shutting it. She then took Vernon’s hand and led him to the door, away from whatever had happened to him here. Away from the reminders of the freaks who had invaded their home.

Vernon looked broken. Petunia hated seeing him like this, he was such a strong man, and to be broken like this by a handful of adolescent freaks was awful. She couldn’t bear it, and tears came to her eyes as she filled the kettle, put it on and set two mugs out, placing a Tetley’s tea bag in each.

“Petunia, I’m scared.” Petunia looked up, looked at Vernon and saw the terror, the fear, in his eyes. He was telling the truth. Vernon, who has stood up to those men at Lily’s wedding, despite what they’d done to him, was scared. “We’ll be safer now the boy’s gone, dear,” she replied, pouring water into the mugs, and heading towards the fridge to get the milk. “Yes, we will. But next summer. When he’s back. What’s to stop any of the ones who supported the freak who killed your sister from coming here and killing us all? What protects us? These protections Dumbledore spoke about in his letter weren’t very effective tonight!”

“I don’t know, Vernon. But I don’t believe those boys meant any harm to us tonight. And the boy can’t cause any trouble now he’s gone. He becomes his world’s responsibility the moment he goes with them, that was what Dumbledore wrote. Tomorrow we’ll clean up, pretend this never happened, and tell the neighbours that the boy’s staying with friends from school, he left early this morning when they picked him up. I’ll put anything freakish in the cupboard under the stairs, and we’ll forget about this.” Vernon looked pensive, taking a long, slow gulp from his mug, before nodding.  

Petunia knew Vernon was right to worry, they weren’t safe, but they couldn’t do anything about that tonight. Tomorrow they would think about what to do to solve the problem, to protect Dudley and their family.

* * *

 

There was an owl in the kitchen. Dudley was trying to do his homework, like he’d been told, and there was an owl in the kitchen. An owl giving him a very scary look. Dudley looked closer at the owl. It was Harry’s, Dudley was sure, he hadn’t seen many white owls before. Certainly not ones that looked like they wanted to eat you. Could owls eat people? Dudley wasn’t sure. He never paid attention in Biology, it was boring  _ and  _ difficult.

“Muuuuuum!” he shouted, watching the owl as much as he could while also paying attention to the television (he’d never been told to not have the television on while doing homework). The owl raised its wings, flapped a little, disturbing Dudley’s papers, and flew to the television. “MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM!” he shouted louder this time, “That owl is here, I can’t see the telly! Make it go away!”

The hoover stopped, Dudley’s mother walked into the room and gave the owl, and Dudley a suspicious look. He hadn’t let the owl in! It had just appeared!  _ Like..like…  _ Dudley didn’t even dare to think the word, scared it would summon more freaks, like the ones who had taken Harry in the summer. Like the one who had tried to turn him into a pig.

“Dudley, go to the living room, tell your father that I need to speak to him in here. And don’t touch any of the presents.” When his mother spoke like that, Dudley knew to take her seriously. She was scary when she was angry, scarier than his dad sometimes. He slipped off his chair as quickly, as quietly, as gracefully as a boy his size could and wandered into the living room, sitting down in front of the telly. “Mum wants to speak to you in the kitchen. The owl is back,” he said, grabbing the remote and changing the channel; the news was boring.

His father grunted, muttering about “bloody birds” and “ungrateful freaks” as he left the room. Dudley could hear bits and pieces of his parent’s conversation in the kitchen, the outrage in his father’s voice that the owl wouldn’t leave until a present was provided. Again. The fear from his mother that not sending a present would draw attention to them. Dudley had noticed that his parents really, really didn’t like attention. Especially when that attention was to do with Harry.

Then Dudley’s father is back, the hoover is on and he has to continue with his homework in the kitchen. The owl is gone, and life continues as if nothing happened, as if the owl had never arrived.

* * *

 

Vernon had driven all the way to London and paid the outrageous parking fees at King’s Cross. If he had to speak to anyone, if he had to make small talk with a freak, he might punch them. Petunia was at his side, Dudley dragging his feet behind them. None of them wanted to be here, but the boy was coming back from school, and he had to spend some time at Privet Drive every summer. Apparently. None of them were happy about it.

“Dad, will we see those boys from last summer again? Or the giant man?”

“No, Dudders, we won’t. We won’t go anywhere near the freaks. They won’t be able to hurt us.”

“Okay,” Vernon glanced back and saw that Dudley was going over to ask a conductor some questions. As long as he kept an eye on his son, everything would be alright.

Dudley continued to dawdle behind them, and as they settled near the barrier Petunia claimed was the gateway between the freaks’ world and the normal world, Vernon grew more and more nervous.

“Here to meet your son? Our daughter’s on her way back from school as well, she told us to wait here in her last letter,” a man wearing a suit held out his hand for Vernon to shake.

“You’re not like them then?” Vernon asked, shaking the offered hand, while a small part of him hoping that they’d share his opinions on these people.

“No, we’re totally normal. Not that we’re not proud of our Hermione, but we did have other hopes for her, Oxbridge, you know,” the man said, before checking his watch, “Shouldn’t be long now. Oh, I’m Dan Granger, by the way. My wife and I have a dental practice in Oxford.”

“Vernon Dursley. We’ll be going home as soon as my nephew appears.” And as soon as Vernon had mentioned the boy, he materialised, like he’d walked through the wall, talking with a bushy haired girl who had to be Granger’s daughter, they looked far too alike to not be related.

“Uncle Vernon, thanks for collecting me.”

“Nonsense, but gather your things and let’s go, boy. Don’t want to be given a parking ticket for overstaying our welcome. Lovely meeting you, Mr Granger,” Vernon replied, hurrying his family and the boy along, trying to get them out of there as soon as possible.

Once they were in the car, and the boy and Dudley had both quietened down, and hopefully gone to sleep, Vernon turned to Petunia and commented on the Grangers. “They seemed like good, normal people, although perhaps they’re a little too accepting of freaks, and what’s happened to their daughter, but they are dentists after all,” and Petunia made a sound of agreement, before putting the radio on to keep up with the traffic news.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Peace  
**

_ Summer’s been okay so far _ , Dudley thought over breakfast one morning, reaching for his fourth slice of bacon. Nothing strange had happened yet, and Harry was quiet, not mentioning his freaky school or anything to do with that stuff at all. It was almost how Dudley thought it would be to be normal.

 

The telephone rang, and Dudley ignored it, knowing someone else would pick it up, concentrating instead on his breakfast, although he decided to pay some attention to the telephone call, he picked up all sorts of interesting information that way.

 

The first sign that something was wrong was his dad holding the phone as far as from his as he could. The second sign that something was wrong was that whoever had called was shouting down the phone, like they’d never used one before, as if they didn’t know how to use one at all. Dudley stared, taken completely by surprise, as this unknown person shouted at his father down the telephone, as this person asked to speak with Harry, with this person who did not care about how rude they were being.

 

Dudley turned to look at Harry, who looked as though he expected the floor to open up and swallow him, not that he deserved it, in Dudley’s opinion. He’d given the freaks their phone number, which was almost like inviting them in. Freaks shouldn’t be contacting normal people like them unless they had a very good reason for it and knew how to work a telephone.

 

There was a click as his father put the phone down, slowly, carefully, and with a measure of control that terrified Dudley, a fear he could see reflected tenfold in Harry’s face across the table. Dudley very carefully left the room, moving around his father as quietly as possible, following his mother’s signed instructions, trying not to draw any attention to himself. This wasn’t his fault.

 

As soon as he’d escaped from the kitchen, as soon as the tirade had started, and Dudley didn’t have to worry about being caught in the firing line for something Harry did, and once he had a moment to think, he realised that Harry had not just given the freaks a way to contact them, but a way to find them. They didn’t know which freaks had their telephone number, knew how to use a phone book, knew how to find them, but these people were dangerous, and Dudley was struck by how unsafe they might be, how these people could find them, and they couldn’t do anything about it at all.

* * *

 

Petunia was struggling to smile the whole way through dinner with Marge. Vernon hadn’t liked Lily, Petunia didn’t like Marge, it was something they’d both had to deal with, although, Petunia reflected, Vernon had less to deal with than she did, and would have even if Lily hadn’t died, Lily and Petunia had only been on Christmas card terms because of their parents’ deaths, something that had forced a small amount of reconciliation between the two of them.

 

Petunia didn’t try and stop Marge visiting, was far more pleasant to Marge and whichever dog she brought with her when they saw each other than Vernon ever had been to Lily and James, but it was so  _ difficult _ sometimes to be nice to Marge, and she understood where her nephew was coming from, understood his anger and his resentment when Marge visited. She insulted their shared relative far too much for either of them to be happy.

 

When Marge’s glass exploded in her hand, when the fine brandy Vernon had been saving just for him and his sister went all over the table, a small part of Petunia was happy that Marge was clearly getting her comeuppance, that she was being punished. This part of her was ignored while Petunia shot the required glare at the boy stood behind the sink before helping to clear the glass away as her nephew swept the shards that had fallen to the ground away, trying to avoid the dog’s inquisitive nose, to protect the dog from injury. That would just get Marge more upset.

Once they’d sat down again, once Marge was talking again, once Vernon was agreeing with everything she said, Petunia placed the most pleasant smile she could on her face, keeping an eye on the boy from the corner of her eye. She saw his face darken, saw the pain that the words were causing be pushed away as he tried to ignore it. If anything happened, Marge might notice, and Marge couldn’t notice. That would be the end. Marge would not be convinced or persuaded, even Vernon had agreed with that.

 

“If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’s something wrong with the pup,” Marge was saying, and Petunia stiffened, trying not to flinch as Marge reached over the table to pat her hand. Petunia forced her smile to become more pitying, more in agreement with Marge’s sentiment even though she was angry, betrayed, and furious. There had been nothing wrong with Lily, the freakishness hadn’t been her fault and Marge had never thought Petunia was good enough for Vernon, never thought that her family had been as good as Vernon’s, and Petunia had never been able to convince her otherwise.

 

Petunia was about to ask if Dudley would help her clear the table, and then they could go through to the living room and watch the news, when Marge’s finger started blowing up like a balloon. Marge fell silent as the entire room watched in horror. Her finger was expanding, followed by her hands, then her arms and Petunia watched as her jacket ripped, and buttons started flying off her clothes, into the brandy, the leftovers, underneath the cabinet, down the sink. Petunia hoped Marge wasn’t expecting any of these back after this.

She stared in horror, hiding the satisfaction she felt as Marge floated towards the ceiling, the chair she had been sat in knocked aside as she’d stood up. Vernon was jumping up and down, trying to grab Marge and keep her anchored, keep her inside, but he was failing, as she drifted through the kitchen, through the conservatory and through the open door into the garden.

Petunia sent a glance towards the clock as the boy fled the room, trying to work out if any of the neighbours would see this, if they’d have to come up with an explanation for her sister-in-law floating away. They could deal with her nephew later.

She followed Vernon through the conservatory, stopping in the doorway. Marge was floating away into the distance, carried away by the wind and whatever freaky thing her nephew had done to her, Vernon was kneeling on the grass watching Marge float away, and the sound of the television drifted from the kitchen. Petunia walked to where Vernon was kneeling and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Dear, we can’t do anything for her now,” she said, trying her best to keep her voice and her hands from shaking, “The freaks will know that he did something, like they did last year. They’ll help her, they have people for that.”

Vernon’s looked up at her, and then back towards the receding dot that was his sister. “You’re right. The least we can do is punish that freak for doing this,” he muttered, standing up and marching back into the house. Petunia followed him, hoping to stop him from doing anything permanent, anything that could get them into trouble.

 

She almost walked into him. The boy was stood by the door, trunk behind him. Petunia moved to stand next to Vernon and looked the boy over. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, eyes flicking from the skinny boy with Lily’s eyes to the front door. He shifted slightly, and then looked her in the eye, moving his eyes over to Vernon after Petunia blinked.

“I’m leaving. You don’t want me here, I don’t want to be here,” he snapped, hands moving towards his pockets.

“You’ll be punished! You can’t do magic outside of that freaky school, you’ll go to prison!” Vernon crowed, and Petunia rested a hand on his arm.

“Vernon, let him go. If he gets punished, it won’t be our fault, and either way we won’t have to deal with him anymore,” Petunia had no illusions of him being dropped on her doorstep next summer regardless of the circumstances of his leaving, but anything to prevent a scene.

Vernon snorted, angry and dismissive, “Get out. Now,” he snarled, and shouldered his way past her and into the living room, slamming the door after him. Petunia watched as her nephew opened the door, hauling his trunk out into the twilight before shutting the door quietly behind him. It could have gone worse, Petunia reflected, heading to the kitchen to finish cleaning up.

 

* * *

 

It was two weeks before Christmas and Petunia was just putting the washing up away when there was a tapping at the window. She turned around and almost dropped the plate she had been drying. The owl was back.

 

She placed the plate very carefully on the side, shut the kitchen door, and then slowly opened the window. The bird hopped into the room, and then perched on one of the chairs. Petunia didn’t even look at the bird as she left the room, as she very carefully slipped through the tiniest gap in the door that she could manage, knowing that the bird was watching her the entire time.

 

Once out of the room, she went to the living room. “Vernon,” she said, hoping that he wouldn’t be too upset by this news, “The bird is back. I think it wants us to give him another present.”

“What?”

“Vernon,” Petunia spoke a little more loudly this time, “The owl. The boy’s owl. It’s in the kitchen. It’s disturbing and I want it gone.”

“Why did you let it in in the first place then?”

“These birds are too intelligent. It would have found a way in by itself if I hadn’t let it in.”

“Get one of the spare cards and something we don’t need anymore. Anything to get it out of my house.” Vernon’s tone was firm, and Petunia chose to leave him to the news and not bother him anymore.

 

It took her a few minutes to find a spare card, and a lollipop left over from Dudley’s Halloween sweets that she taped to the inside. Signing her name quickly, adding Dudley’s and Vernon’s, she considered for a few seconds adding a few lines, wishing him good health, but decided against it. Lily would be so ashamed of her.

 

She found an envelope, it didn’t match the card perfectly, but it would do, and she wrote her nephew’s name on the front, sealed it shut and went to the kitchen door.

She took a deep breath before opening it, part of her hoping the bird would be gone, she had left the window open. It could leave anytime it liked.

 

The bird was still there when she opened the door, unnaturally intelligent eyes focusing on her. She held the envelope up slightly, showing it to the bird, which shifted slightly, extending a leg for her to tie the envelope to.

 

Trembling hands taped some string to the envelope before very carefully tying the string round the bird’s leg. The bird stared at her, then flapped over to the open window. Turning back for a few seconds, it seemed to hiss, before launching itself out of the window, and Petunia sank into a chair. They didn’t need to worry about the bird for another six months.

 

* * *

 

The last six months had been blissfully peaceful, and Vernon had been grateful for that. It had almost been like before the boy had been dumped on their doorstep, when life was simple, and Petunia’s freakish relatives hadn’t caused any problems for them. And yet here they were, again, at King’s Cross Station, waiting for the boy to finish talking to his freakish friends so that they could go home, could ignore this part of their lives.

 

The boy appeared out of nowhere, looking surprisingly cheerful. Vernon was instantly suspicious. Nobody said anything as they made their way back through the station, towards the car park, where Vernon once again paid the outrageous parking costs.

 

Once they were in the car and on the M25, stuck in a traffic jam as usual, the boy pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and started reading it. Vernon snorted to himself. “Your freaky friends writing to you already?”

“No,” the boy said. Vernon could see him smiling out of the corner of his eye. “It’s from my godfather,” the boy continued, folding the letter up carefully before putting it back in his pocket.

“Your godfather? You haven’t got a godfather,” Vernon shook his head, honking his horn at the stationary car in front.

“I do. I met him this year. He expects me to write to him every week over the summer. And he’s like me, so you don’t want him showing up on the doorstep.”

 

Vernon froze, halfway to honking the horn again, and very slowly turned his head to look at his nephew. “Like you?” He asked, and the boy nodded. Vernon very carefully did not gulp but made a mental note to discuss this with Petunia later. If the boy had a godfather, why was he not living with him? There was something fishy about this. “And why are you not living with this godfather of yours, rather than continuing to be a burden on my family?” Vernon said, voice level but knuckles white as he held the steering wheel tightly.

“He was in prison for the last 12 years for murder,” the boy says cheerfully, and Vernon nearly drives into the car in front, cursing the stop-start traffic as he slams the brake pedal.

“A murderer?”

“Yep. He was accused of killing 13 people, some of them Muggles, like you and Aunt Petunia and Dudley,” the boy flinched slightly when Vernon snarled, “But he seemed nice when I met him a couple of weeks ago.”

  
  


“Petunia, did you know the boy has a godfather?” Vernon said when the boys had gone to bed, and he and Petunia were watching the television later that night.

“I didn’t, no. Why isn’t he living with this godfather?” Vernon was pleased that he had exactly the same thought as his wife.

“Apparently the man’s been in prison for murder for over a decade,” Vernon took Petunia’s wineglass before she could drop it, carefully placing it on the coffee table, “And he’ll be checking in with the boy over the summer. To make sure we’re treating him right,” Vernon added.

“Then we shall have to ensure this godfather of his has no reason to visit us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading, and I have decided it will be an achievement if I get this fic finished by the end of my degree in July 2019. But I will finish it. I promise. Comments and kudos encourage me to write more, just in case you were wondering and I am always happy to talk about my fic (I'm awesomeelves on tumblr if you wanna chat there)


End file.
